


For Lack of Better Words

by lunaticmeap



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10088192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaticmeap/pseuds/lunaticmeap
Summary: Damian tries to hide from his problems and his family, but when push comes to shove, Jason will have to step in to help his little brother.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This originally was a really happy fic, until I read this drabble /oneshot on tumblr about Jason comforting Damian after the encounter with fear gas and I'm just rolling on the floor like UFHFHFHFHFHGGHGHHG. Initially i wanted to write this for Dick and Damian but then Jason seemed more appropriate
> 
> Prompt: "I know you're afraid but we can't hide in the closet forever." + "Please, don't leave."

**“I know you’re afraid but we can’t hide in the closet forever.”**

“…”

“Look I know I’m hypocritical, but talking might help.”

“…”

“I won’t tell them.”

* * *

 

Scarecrow’s fear toxin was, though admittedly ill purposed, a work of science to be admired and, well… feared. When Batman had first faced Scarecrow, it was told that the gas gave you hallucinations, visions that deeply discomforted you, to which Richard Grayson – the first Robin – knew well how it worked. Tim and Cassandra also knew, and had endured it to escape the influence of Mother. Jason had once, too, inhaled the gas, but he has grown too tough to give a crap by then.

Damian has never gotten it, despite being the youngest to ever taken the mantle of Robin. And it was good too, because it created a whole lot less problems for the Batman when Robin isn’t emotionally compromised (“Great parenting Bruce!”). Until recently, that is.

When Dick first came across it, Bruce had no idea of what to do. He was just starting out as Batman, not to mention even shorter as a guardian/parent. That alongside his emotional constipation only helped Dick so much afterwards. His little experience just wasn’t enough for the youngest, because Damian, unlike Dick, didn’t talk about it – he buried it deep, and stayed more silent than the telltale dorm mouse. Like father, like son.

It was all an accident that Robin had sniffed it. He was thrown back into a wall, air and his gas filter knocked out of his mouth and making him cough painfully whilst being prone to the toxin filled air. Less than five seconds later, Robin heard a shout from one of the other vigilante’s, which one he couldn’t remember or distinguish through the strange dizziness that was hitting him. His eyes were slightly blurry around the edge, but he could see someone approaching him. He had thought it was Red Robin, but then the red and black seem to swirl into each other, and the face he was staring at wasn’t at all Red Robin. It was contorted and stretched, like it was smashed and then twisted and skewered into the shape.

Obviously he tried to punch it in the face.

The gas filter forgotten in the moment, Robin attacked the figure, despite not knowing who or what he was fighting. He sent a flurry of punches and kicks, all of which, confusing and frustrating to him, was blocked. From the corner of his eyes more figures approach, each like the one in front of him – gruesome and malicious, with slight resemblance to his family, which enraged him to no end.

It was Red Hood that later managed to knock the boy out with the butt of his gun, and the ride home that came after was not the slightest comfortable for Robin, squirming under the seatbelt.

Alfred was absolutely frisky, sneering at everyone who walked pass, but softening immediately at the sight of the boy sleeping. The actual Alfred Pennyworth was less angry, but nonetheless cross and worried as the toxin worked its way through Damian. An irrational fear inside him reminded him of the battered body of the boy the first time he died, with the scary thought that the same boy might just drop dead after his thrashings. Alfred tucked the boy in that night, all while Damian groaned, thrashed and furrowed his brows in his sleep.

Damian woke up screaming at 2am that night, but no one ever found him was until 6am when he returned through the kitchen door, clothes drenched and feet muddy, with a few scrapes on his palm. Completely oblivious to the stares everyone gave him, Damian walked across the kitchen as if nothing has happened.

Everyone hardly saw him around since then, except during patrol. He wouldn’t come down for meals, and Alfred, ever so worried, would bring him food without request because he knew the boy probably won’t eat unless it was forced upon him. The first person ever managing to approach him was Cassandra when she snuck up on him. She tapped him on the chest, where his heart was, and gave him a hug.

“Talk to me.” If you need to, she told him.

But he was still, emotionless through the process, as if it was nothing more than a routine.

The worst part is when Tim realizes he was getting into less arguments than before – not that Red Robin wouldn’t mind his brother shutting his yap, but it seemed all too strange to not hear Damian insulting him when he slipped on the stairs or missed his coffee mug when pouring it in the morning.

“You’re avoiding us on purpose.”

“I have better things to do.”

“No, you don’t. You’re intentionally doing it. Avoiding conversations with us. You won’t even mock me anymore, Damian! That’s something wrong.”

“I realized how useless it was to scream at someone as hopeless as you.”

“Are we going to keep going in circles like this? You avoiding the issue?”

“There is no issue to talk about, Drake. Not everything is this complicated as you think it is.”

The boy stalked off then, and Tim was slightly infuriated at his attitude, but also noticed Damian never once looking at him in the eye. He would immediately stare away whenever he looked at Tim, his eyes were distant in each look, like he wasn’t even there - Tim couldn’t figure out what it was.

Jason also tried to confront the kid on the increased amount of injuries that he’s getting and the erratic behaviours that have never been seen before on the current Robin. He was jumping about, never asking for help or worse yet, getting himself into situations that he probably couldn’t get out with his life. Red Hood had to jump in at the last minute to shield the Robin from a bullet that could have been easily dodged.

“You didn’t have to take the bullet.”

“Something going on?”

“No.”

“You’re not focusing and I had to save your sorry butt. Doesn’t look like a ‘no’.”

“I was careless, and I should pay the cost for that myself. I don’t need your help, Hood!”

For a moment Red Hood was angry, until he realized the implications of those words - the kid felt that he was deserving of such a punishment. What exactly caused that thought, he did not know. Jason stared at Robin strangely, “Who are you and what have you done to the little demon?”

“Very funny, Hood,” Robin took off with his grapple, swinging off the roof with a slight limp that Jason didn’t notice until now. Jason followed suit, watching from behind as he saw Robin did a clumsy landing on the next roof, tumbling into a roll and hissed. He ran to the kid.

“Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit down, I’m checking your injury.”

“What kind of non-sense are you-”

“The quicker I see to it, the earlier you’ll be home.”

There weren’t any blood or wounds that he could see.

“Boots off.”

“You are being such an idiot right now, Todd.”

“I could do this all day, kid,” Jason remarked.

Robin scowled at him and plopped back on the ground restraining himself from wincing. Jason cocked his head to the left, noticing the less than 2 seconds crease that appeared on Robin’s forehead caused by the slightest movement at his feet.

“Alright never mind I know what’s wrong.”

“You’re kidding me-”

Red Hood crouched in front of him, hands gesturing for something.

“What are you doing?” Robin asked skeptically.

“Get on. You’re not going swinging on anymore building until doctors say otherwise.”

Red Hood carried Robin back to the Batmobile that day, giving Batman a heads up on the boy’s situation before leaving – worried because knowing Bruce, he won’t figure out how to help the kid until it’s too late. He picked up the phone and texted Dick that night, just in case.

It was 2 days later when Jason finally came over, hearing that Dick won’t even be available until another two weeks because of a case. When he rang the doorbell, Bruce opened the door – which was an occurrence that rarely happened.

“To what do I owe the honour?”

“You look like you’re having a mid-life crisis,” Jason brushed pass him into the house.

Bruce looked at him tiredly, “Why is that?”

“The hair, the shirt,” he pointed. “I don’t know, maybe because it’s just how you always look?”

The older man absentmindedly rubbed under his eyes, “Long week.”

“Yeah, I can tell. ’m looking for Damian.”

“Figured. Just stormed upstairs.”

“'Stormed’?”

“I tried to talk to him,” Bruce reasoned and walked off, turning at the last second at the doorframe. “Didn’t work.”

Jason lightly walked upstairs and knocked on Damian’s door. Hearing no response, he tried to call for the kid. It was again that he got replied by silence, so he decided to check the kid was even there at all.

“Twerp, you in here?”

The closet door was open, inside, Jason found, was Damian, huddled in one corner, hugging his leg and completely silent. He held himself rigidly, knees pulled into his chest, hiding, in a sort of way. Jason sat down next to him, staring ahead into the wall on the other side of the room. It was two minutes later when Jason finally broke the silence.

“I know you’re afraid by we can’t hide in the closet forever,” he leaned over, rolling his feet on his heel.

No response, not even a twitch.

“Look I know I’m hypocritical, but talking might help.”

Damian looked down, eyes dripping with disappointment (in himself). His lips pressed against each other, contemplating.

“I won’t tell them.”

It was a while later that Damian finally responded, “I kept having dreams.”

“Of what?”

“You… Father. Grayson, Drake, Alfred, Cain… everyone…”

“What were we doing?”

A shiver brushed pass Damian by just the thought of it, and he winced, “You all died…”

Jason nodded, understanding. “You know I told you once that we won’t be lea-”

“I killed you,” Damian blurted out. “All of you.”

Jason stared at Damian, not with the fear that Damian had originally expected. He saw surprise, then sympathy, and then he saw disdain. He suddenly regretted telling Jason that in the first place.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, don’t be,” Jason reached out to tap him on the shoulder, and Damian thought he saw a small moment of hesitation. He didn’t bring it up.

Jason was unable to really respond. He wanted to reach out and say ‘I know how you feel’, but that would be him lying to the kid, because he never knew how it felt to fear yourself, as Damian was. He was a child, and though as eloquent and broad as Jason’s vocabulary was, he couldn’t find fitting words to respond. Instead of offering words of comfort that he didn’t have, he got up and walked out.

Damian was frightened. He went too far, he thought to himself, he hates you, and he should. Everyone needs to stay away from you. You’re a killer, and you’ll end up killing them one day, if not by yourself, then they’ll die because of you. But despite himself, he spoke, quietly, a plea behind the closet door.

**“Please, don’t leave.”**

But Jason was already out the door, not even catching the last words of Damian’s plea. The boy disappointingly stared down at his socked feet, curling even more into himself. He was sorry, he was so sorry because he knew that now Jason probably hates him, and it was logical. Hell, Jason hated the Joker with his gut, what’s to say that Damian won’t be on that hate list anytime soon. Not to mention Damian’s with a history with the League of Assassins too. He knew it was better this way – if everyone hated him, then they’ll stay away, and he’ll have less of a chance of killing them. And maybe, if he hates himself enough, he might just leave them, so no one will ever die by his hands again. Better yet, if he stopped existing…

The thought pricked his heart. His eyes were burning from the amount of restrain he was doing to hold back his tears. But when he blinked the next time, the first tear flowed down his cheek. He immediately wiped it away, the words from the training in his childhood burned in his mind: _Crying is weak. You aren’t allowed to be weak. Weakness will kill you, weakness will only prove to the world your incompetence._

He rested his head on his knee, faced down, hiding because he couldn’t stop the tears after the first. The images of his family dying, pale and lifeless, reemerged - it hurted to remember. It burned, and all he could think was how it much better they would be without him. Bruce would never need to care for an insolent child, Alfred never needing to clean an extra room and worry about another person, Dick never having to deal with his tantrums, Jason not needing to take another bullet for him, Tim and Cassandra peacefully getting on with their life. _Everyone is better without you…_

His hands clawed at his calves, holding on tightly too the fabric of his jeans, knowing at the end of the day, he’ll only be by himself, and no one will trust him enough to even-

With a thump, Jason plopped down next to Damian again. In front of them a stack of books taken from the Manor’s library.

“From my ‘favourites’ section,” he told Damian, taking the top book out of the pile.

Damian, with puffy teared eyes sniffed and glanced at the man who was already starting on the first page of Oliver Twist. He was confused to why Jason would even sit here next to a killer like himself, completely unwary. He called out, “Todd.”

“Hm?”

“Why?”

Jason put his book down from reading distance, and turned to the boy, only twelve and not even reaching puberty yet, who has seen too much, know so much, and suffered enough for a lifetime. Damian doesn’t need to be shunned. He needed guidance and help; most of all, he needed company. Just someone to be present and keep him in line, and keep him from hurting himself.

“The four things that makes up a Robin: Investigation, confidence, suffering, and _family_.* Remember? ,” Jason said simply, returning to his book.

Damian stared at him for a while longer, then picking up the top one on the stack. He opened the book, smiling slightly to the smell of old books and the slightly rough texture on his fingers. He was smiling with heart calmed, that maybe, things will turn out okay for him.

Alfred came upstairs with the tray of food to find Damian tucked into bed with Jason on his bedside in a chair, reading. Jason raised a finger to his lips, signaling for Alfred to be as quiet as possible. “I’ll leave this here,” Alfred placed the tray on the bedside table, turned on the yellow lamp, and left. Jason smiled gratefully and returned to his book, mouthing in silence its words.

The room was filled with only their sound breathing and the occasional shuffle of the pages.

**Author's Note:**

> *Robin War crossover series: Part 2 - Grayson #15
> 
> I tried my best to keep Damian as canon as possible, but it's really difficult to write anything deeply emotional for the kid because he's always so tough in the comic. The only time I've ever seen him cry is in Robin: Son of Batman and that was when he was slaughtering animals, and he loves animals so i totally get why he would cry. Just not for people, he hates people.  
> SOOOO if anyone knows about that tumblr post, plz tell me because I can't find it and i really want to credit the post.


End file.
